


Honi Soit Qui Malfoy Y Pense

by blithesea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Masks, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Substance Abuse, Underage Substance Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithesea/pseuds/blithesea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a Masked Ball in Malfoy Manor, Harry loses control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Syren's Tear

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the summer break before Harry's seventh year. Harry and Draco are both supposed to be 17. This was written between GoF and OotP, so obviously AU for the last books. 
> 
> Originally posted on July 11, 2003. 
> 
> Many thanks to thejennabides for the beta. <3

It had been almost too easy. 

Dressed in the obligatory black tuxedos and sleek pearly-white masks, they had flown to Malfoy Manor and mingled with the masses of people streaming inside. No one had asked them to identify themselves or even show invitation cards; it seemed that the Malfoys were sure their dubious reputation would be warning enough to keep unwanted guests away.

Naturally, the very opposite applied to the Weasley twins. They had been in a constant state of giddy anticipation ever since news of the Masked Ball at the Malfoys had leaked out: soon Ron and Harry, who was staying with the Weasleys during this last summer break, had been completely swept away with them. Mr and Mrs Weasley were quite unaware that the night out their sons planned was indeed leading their offspring and the Boy Who Lived into the very lion's den. As far as they were concerned, the boys were dressing up for a costume party thrown by some classmate or other.

And the danger of being found out was a main part of the thrill, after all.

Now Harry was roaming the endlessly stretching flight of rooms the party raved in. He had lost Ron when the buffet had been declared open, and the twins almost the very moment the four of them had arrived at the mansion. The intoxicating feeling of excitement and adventure inside him had worn off a little. Despite the multicolored spree wavering this way and that all around him, Harry felt a bit bored; frustrated, even. This party was indeed a social gathering extraordinaire, but so far nothing had happened to make the previous days of mixed worry and anxious waiting seem worth it. He almost wished that someone he knew would cross his path, like Crabbe or Goyle, or perhaps Zabini, to raise the stakes a bit. They were surely in the crowd somewhere, but with the masks it was hard to tell.

What peeved Harry most was that he hadn't seen Draco yet, either. The most interesting part of dancing on the Malfoys' table without them even noticing was, of course, the presence of the main cat himself. But so far, every flash of blond Harry had spotted beneath the masks had belonged to the wrong person — too short, too fat, too sweet a smile. He was starting to suspect that Draco wasn't even in the house by now.

As Harry continued to walk, the sound of music gradually receded and the people he met on his way became fewer and fewer. Finally he reached a room that seemed completely deserted. Its walls were lined with bookshelves, and in one of the corners a grand piano was dozing in polished elegance.

What caught Harry's attention and made him step inside this room was the huge panorama window overlooking the garden. The moonlight outside reflected on the dark waters of a small lake, throwing ever-changing fractal patterns on the ceiling. Involuntarily Harry reached up to adjust his glasses, remembering too late that Mrs. Weasley had charmed his eyes to improve his sight for the length of the night. It appeared he'd need some time to get used to this. With a slightly embarrassed chuckle, he walked closer to the window.

"And what do we have here?" A low, husky voice rang out from his left. With a start Harry became aware of the slim figure leaning onto the window sill. The tall blonde made a few steps towards him. "Has fortune sent me a companion for tonight?"

Harry swallowed nervously, his throat suddenly very dry and his heart starting to beat faster. Here now was the danger he'd been subconsciouly seeking. Of course he recognized Narcissa Malfoy, but on the occasions on which he'd briefly met her, she had never looked like this. He couldn't tell if it was her magnificent ballrobe, or the heavy perfume surrounding her, or the smile playing around her features – this woman seemed to bear no resemblance to Draco's arrogant, dissatisfied mother. This woman looked beautiful and awe-inspiring, like a cobra poised to strike.

"I — I'm sorry, I must have taken a wrong turn," he stammered and gestured vaguely towards the door. "See, I'm just looking for a friend — I won't disturb you any longer— "

Narcissa Malfoy laughed softly, and before Harry knew it, she had walked up to him and taken his hand. "Come and have a glass of periwinkle wine," she purred as she pulled him over to the window, where a bottle and several champagne flutes filled with a deeply purple liquid stood on a small table. Harry tried to twist out of her grasp, but Narcissa held him fast in a way that made it impossible for him to break free without downright wrestling with her. He turned towards the open door in the hope that someone might walk by and rescue him from this predicament. "Now I really should go and find my friend—"

"Just one shared toast," Narcissa interrupted him. For a moment, her voice bore the hint of an edge, but when she continued to speak it was gone. "You wouldn't refuse your host that pleasure, would you?"

"Er..." As he desperately tried to think of a way to escape, Harry felt his forehead break out in a cold sweat. Now that he was faced with Narcissa Malfoy, he wildly wished he had chosen a mask that obscured all of his face and not just the upper half. As if she could read his thoughts, Narcissa ran her fingers over his cheek. Harry hastily took a step back, upsetting the table and causing the glasses to clang together.

"Careful," Narcissa chided gently. She reached around him and produced two of the champagne flutes filled to the brim, one of which she pressed into Harry's hand.

"Let's drink to this night, my young friend," she proposed in her deep, sonorous voice; and moved even closer to him. For a moment, Harry was trapped between her body and the table pushing into the small of his back. Her big grey eyes were fixed on his own and he felt glued to the spot, like a mouse hypnotised by a snake.

Using all of the willpower he still posessed, Harry took a step to the side, and the spell was broken. "Cheers," he said quickly, downing his drink. A pleasant prickle spread from his stomach all the way to his ears, toes and fingertips. Narcissa watched his surprised reaction with an amused look.

"Delightful, isn't it?" She reached for the bottle next to them and filled his glass again. "Now, for our toast." 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him by laying a finger to his lips.

"You promised, my dear," she insisted, again so close to him that her breath brushed his face.

When she pulled back her hand from his mouth, she held a single green icecube between her thumb and forefinger. A small silvery light danced in its center. Harry couldn't help staring at it in curious wonder. "What is this?"

"A syren's tear," Narcissa replied and let it drop into his glass. The icecube dissolved instantly, but the little light now flickered inside the periwinkle wine like a captured star. Harry couldn't take his eyes from the sight.

"A rare delicacy." While he wasn't watching, Narcissa had moved closer to him once more. Now she linked her arm with his. In her own glass another light shone, but she didn't even look at it. Her eyes were fixed on Harry's face as she started tugging at his mask, trying to take it off; Harry barely managed to hold it fast with his free hand. Narcissa smiled at him, probably mistaking his behaviour for shyness.

"To this night, and to unexpected revelations," Narcissa toasted, her grey eyes opened wide, staring at him hungrily. Harry quickly looked down at the flicker in his glass instead. He was dimly aware that drinking any concoction handed to him by Draco Malfoy's mother was probably not a very good idea, but —

The little star shone and glimmered, singing to him in a sweet and irresistible voice. He closed his eyes and emptied his glass.

The very next second, Harry yanked his eyes wide open again, gasping. The drink spread through him like fire taking to a gasoline-soaked rag. On the very edge of his conscience he was aware of his glass falling to the ground and shattering, but his mind, body and soul were now spellbound by the sensations overtaking him completely. His perception seemed to be sharpened to the edge of pain. At first Harry felt like his hearing had been dulled somehow, as if cotton had been stuffed into his ears. But then he realized it was just that the silence around him, broken only by the sound of the Blonde Woman's and his own breathing and the faintest music in the background, was not nearly as intriguing as the things all around him he was suddenly able to see.

Just looking at his own hand, Harry could see the warmth radiating off it in a reddish glow, frazzled at the edges with every imaginable colour. He drew a deep breath and was overtaken by the feeling of oxygen filling his lungs and swirling through him, a sensation so intense that he merely stood there and concentrated on breathing in and out for a while. With every breath and every beat of his heart, his awareness of everything around him sharpened and then slightly dimmed again, like tidal waves. Harry held his breath for a moment, just to see what it would be like, and soon grew dizzy from the swirls of colour and heat wavering before his eyes.

He had lost all track of time, it seemed. Or maybe it was just that he had lost interest in following it when there were so many more fascinating occurrances to be observed and newly felt, like the cool mask on his heated face, the lazy ruffling of robes, the bright, crazy trickle of sweat from his nape all the way down to the small of his back.

Minutes, hours or days could have passed before Harry became aware of the Blonde Woman again — he neither noticed nor cared. But suddenly her face was looming in his vision once more, the lines of her smudged and contorted with a grey pulsing glow. Her eyes were opened widely, but of her irises nothing was visible; her pupils were dilated so much that Harry had the feeling he was looking into two gaping black holes.

The continual bliss inside and all around him had made Harry forget that such concepts as worry, anxiety or uneasiness even existed. Even now he felt none of these. The Blonde Woman was disturbing the bubble of self-contained satisfaction he was floating in, and he'd rather not have that, thank you very much.

He stepped back and for a moment was completely enticed by the feeling of the smooth hardwood floor beneath his feet, reassuringly solid and yet yielding ever so slightly to his step. Then the Blonde Woman followed him and tore his attention away from the floor, and despite the mellow contentment still washing through him, Harry began to feel rather annoyed by her presence. She reached for him, but he shied away from her touch. This did not stop her from trying to crowd him into the wall, one of her hands creeping up his robes —

"Mother!"

The sharpness of this new voice pierced through the room like a blade, causing both Harry and the Blonde Woman to look for its owner. A whirl of blackness and light rushed towards them; only when it stopped could Harry make out features, vaguely familiar; blond hair, dark robes, and above all heat, an angry heat crackling off the newcomer's skin so vividly that it wasn't red but a mad magenta. Harry was so intrigued by this that he paid no heed to the words whipping through the air. Let the Blonde Woman deal with them, he'd rather concentrate on the sheer beauty of the magenta's frazzled edges, moving this way and that with the Blond Boy's gestures.

Then the Blond Boy turned towards Harry and dragged him out of the room by his hand.

The touch of skin on skin made Harry gasp frantically. He had never felt anything of the like; the closest it compared to was the shock of touching an electric fence, but this was electricity transformed into exquisite, delirious pleasure. The Blond Boy's heartbeat hummed through Harry's blood as if it were his own, as if this throbbing were the rhythm the whole world, no, the cosmos itself danced to, and then —

It was over. The Blond Boy had let go of Harry's hand. Harry was left standing in the hall, while the other walked away. A desolate whimper escaped Harry's lips as he stared blindly at the Blond Boy's retreating backside. The absence of the new sensation made his surroundings suddenly feel dull, bland, drained of everything living. All the assaults to his senses that had intrigued him so greatly after drinking the Blonde Woman's draught had now completely lost their fascination, but the memory of the Blond Boy's touch was still so palpable that it hurt Harry with breath-taking intensity. He wanted nothing more than to experience that feeling again.

Acting solely on impulse, Harry quickly followed the blond until he had caught up and took the other's hand. Again, pleasure surged through him in a pulsating wave. Over the thrumming in his ears Harry didn't notice at first that the Blond Boy was talking to him. However, it was painfully brought to his attention when the blond pulled away his hand from Harry's grasp. Harry moaned in anguish. Only then did he look up into the other's eyes, ready to plead, beg, fawn, whatever it took to be allowed to touch.

Now, as the two looked each other straight in the eye, the Blond Boy's features seemed even more familiar. The Boy was not a stranger, this Harry could feel. At the moment, though, it didn't matter to him in the least; the luscious aura of the Boy was singing to him like the little star in his drink had. Harry frowned slightly, nervous for the first time. He had no clue what to do if the Blond Boy rejected him; but he knew he needed to say something now, even though he would much rather forego all talking and just touch, or even better, lick...

"Please," he said hoarsely. The word hurt his parched throat, but much worse was the pain of not being allowed to touch, which was spreading inside him like a slow poison. The Blond Boy — _Draco, his name is Draco_ , a tiny voice whispered from the edge of Harry's mind — still just stared at him. "Please," Harry tried again, growing desperate. "Please, Draco."

The Blond Boy — Draco — didn't answer Harry with words this time. Harry was glad for it; he had trouble focussing on speech. Words were a hindrance now, unneeded and unwanted. A slight hitch in Draco's stance, a tiny shift of colour in the flickering on his skin, a definite change in his smell: all of this gave Harry the only permission that mattered. He sensed surprise, excitement, and most important of all, interest. With a sigh of relief, he leaned in and established the connection again by meeting Draco's lips with his own.

He was not nearly prepared for the effect the light touch had on him. While holding Draco's hand had been maddeningly delicious, kissing him wreaked havoc on Harry's senses. He did not notice if time went by quickly or slowly, every moment was more glorious than the one before. Harry was sure that he had been born to kiss Draco, had spent all his life waiting only for this moment. Draco's lips felt passively warm and soft against his own as Harry sampled taste after taste of him, licking, nibbling, sucking, and it just wasn't enough, not nearly enough —

On the fringes of his consciousness, Harry felt Draco grab fistfuls of his tuxedo, and then he was slammed into the wall next to them; the knock to his head made his eyes water and his ears ring faintly. But Draco's mouth had never left his. Now Draco was kissing him back, fiercely, bruising, nipping at Harry's lips until he drew blood, the sensation magnified tenfold, every bit as pleasurable as Harry's soft explorations moments before.

Harry's helpless moan seemed only to spur Draco on. His frenzied kisses made Harry's knees go weak, so that Harry had to grab Draco's dress robes in turn, which served not only to provide a stronghold amidst the maelstrom of this sensory onslaught, but also to pull Draco closer to him. Draco was now close enough for Harry to feel the heat he had already seen crackling off the blond before. With a content sigh, Harry tugged harder. He wanted Draco glued to him, he wanted Draco's flimmering to surround them both, like a crazed halo. Harry could smell the pheromones rolling off Draco's skin in waves, and he wanted to taste, he had to taste Draco's skin, he needed to taste, wanted it so badly the longing threatened to suffocate him.

Draco's kiss still branded and owned him, allowing no retreat, but Harry at least managed to work one of his hands beneath the robes and under Draco's shirt. He let it wander over the smooth planes of Draco's chest, feeling what he wasn't able to lick, not yet. Draco's breath caught in his throat audibly when Harry skimmed over a peaked nipple.

To Harry's dismay, Draco pulled his hand out of his shirt, and he whimpered his frustration into the kiss before Draco took his hand and placed it on his groin instead. Even through the thick cloth of Draco's trousers, Harry could feel the hardness of an awakening erection. Just a second later Draco pushed his body flush to Harry's, and only when his hand was trapped between them both did Harry realize for the first time that he was achingly hard as well.

Draco started to grind his groin against Harry's, and every little thrust sent lingering sparks all through Harry's body. Moaning softly, he began to meet Draco's hips with his own; but this was still not enough. He wanted their clothes off, nothing between them but the coloured flickering, and not even that. As Draco let off a bit, Harry used the opportunity to open Draco's fly with shaking fingers. When he finally closed them around Draco's erection, the blond's deep moan resonated through Harry as if he were hollow, and hollow he felt; hollow and desperate to be filled with the ecstasy of Draco's skin on his own.

Shivering, Harry moved his hand, squeezed and stroked, guided only by Draco's moans. He was not prepared for the sudden shudder and the warm stickiness coating his fingers and the inside of Draco's trousers; it seemed too rushed, too early, and worst of all, Draco had stopped kissing him. Draco was just leaning against him, panting heavily into the fabric of Harry's shirt. Since his body was still pinned to the wall by the other's weight, Harry opened his mouth to voice some protest, but whatever sound he had planned to produce was turned into a piteous mewl dying in his throat when Draco turned his head lightly and breathed against Harry's neck.

Even in Draco's breath Harry could feel Draco's heartbeat drumming, setting the rhythm for his own heart and for the pulsating world all around him. Slowly, Draco's breath evened out and he let go of Harry to move back a bit, still holding Harry fast by his shirt. By the sudden movement and the space opened up between them, Harry's moist hand was pulled out of Draco's trousers almost with no help of his own. Curious, he brought it up to his mouth and licked tentatively. The sensation on his tongue was like nothing he'd ever experienced. It felt like the atoms of his tastebuds were starting to spin and wiggle, with Draco's flickering ever present, even here. Eyes closed, Harry licked his fingers clean, careful not to miss any, until a choked sound broke his concentration.

He looked up to see Draco watching him wide-eyed, all rapt attention. Disbelief and a spiteful glee flashed over the blond's expression; it was not clear which one prevailed. Draco raised his hand and let it slide over Harry's cheek and the ridge of the mask, almost tenderly. Harry had the faint impression that he should be worried about the mask, though he couldn't quite remember why, and it all ceased to matter when Draco closed the distance between them again and kissed him.

This kiss was different than their first, a bit gentler and a lot more thorough on both sides. Draco's tongue still set their pace, but this time they took turns giving and taking, as if engaging in a soulful dance. Harry greedily took the opportunity to explore all the treasures Draco's mouth had to give and then some, but he was almost thrown off-track when he felt Draco fumble with the opening of his trousers. The delightful promise of that action rendered Harry nearly immobile. He could only wait for it, trembling, wait for Draco to touch him at last, and why the hell was this taking so long?

Only as he tasted Draco's smile in their kiss, Harry started to suspect that the blond boy was deliberately tormenting him with these unproductive touches. With an impatient sound, Harry pressed harder into Draco's hand, only to be rewarded with a teasing bite to his lips. Harry growled in the back of his throat and tightened his grip on Draco's robes, but then, oh then, Draco worked open the very first button, and —

Draco's fingers froze on the spot. He stopped kissing Harry and cocked his head to the side, eyes opened wide. When Harry tried to remind him of his presence with a low moan, Draco's hand flew up and covered Harry's mouth. "Hush!" Draco hissed, and then Harry became aware of it too: heavy footsteps and muffled voices were announcing the arrival of two men.

Harry didn't particularly care about that; he wouldn't have minded if each and every one of the party guests had suddenly decided to waltz by them, as long as he still got to touch and kiss Draco. Draco, however, did appear to mind a great deal. He pulled Harry into a nearby niche, hand still clamped over Harry's mouth, and held his breath.

"— bit of a disappointment," one of the voices was just saying, already sounding rather close to them. "We were positive the Weasley brats and their special friend were going to show up..."

The rest of the conversation was lost on Harry; he had become distracted by the taste of Draco's palm. He only registered that the two men were coming closer by the slight tensing of Draco's body against his. As he looked up, not really curious, Harry saw the two approaching, one dark-haired, the other blond. A sick blue gleam wavered off the blond man, screaming orange off the other. The sight was so appalling and disconcerting that Harry quickly closed his eyes and hid his face in the side of Draco's neck. He didn't need Draco's hand to warn him against making a sound anymore; the very air that surrounded the two men nauseated his senses and left him paralyzed with terror. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Harry prayed for them to go away and stay gone.

Ages and eons seemed to stretch by, but at length the two men had passed Harry and Draco, and their footfall faded in the distance. Draco heaved a sigh of relief so deep that Harry, pressed to Draco's body, felt like it was his own.

"We can't stay here," Draco whispered against his cheek. Harry nodded weakly, still clinging to Draco as if he were drowning. Draco peeled himself off and tugged Harry after him by the hand. To Harry's relief they took the opposite direction to the one the two men had vanished in.

Through rooms and hallways, up and down stairs Draco dragged him, until suddenly the night air caressed their faces with silky fingers. Harry laughed with delight. All the fear from the past encounter fell off him until only bliss was left, the bliss of a dark night and bright stars, of the smell of sunbeams still mingling with the grass, of the bats' silent song, of Draco's hand firmly holding his, steering him to whatever place his lover had in mind.

Draco stopped at the small lake whose moonlit ripples had caught Harry's eyes in the parlour a lifetime earlier. The moon had set since then, but in Harry's eyes Draco was shining with a light of his own like a beacon in the dark. Starlight broke and shattered at his edges into every imaginable colour, caught in his hair and was swallowed by his grey, grey eyes.

Harry quickly leaned in to catch some of the elusive sparkle. He found it in every crevice of Draco's mouth, in every moment of their urgent kiss. Only very distantly he noticed Draco fumbling with his shirt's buttons, until his skin was shocked into contact with cool fingers, wringing a startled cry from his lips. Not breaking the kiss, Draco began to explore every bit of Harry's skin he could reach beneath the shirt, until Harry felt reduced to a mere amassment of nerves jangling with desire. He whimpered at the loss of Draco's touch when the blond backed off and breathed heavily against his neck.

"Take off your clothes," Draco muttered in a somewhat unsteady voice. "Slowly."

The words alone sent stabs of longing from Harry's stomach to pool in his groin, curling and twisting in a desperate ache. Draco moved away, and the growing distance made it harder and harder for Harry to breathe. Still, he could do nothing but obey Draco's command.

Though the craving to be close to his lover grew more painful with every passing second, Harry took his time divesting himself from the dinner jacket and his shoes, just as Draco wished. He made the mistake of looking over to the blond for a sign of approval, and was met with such a hungry gaze that his fingers faltered at the buttons of his shirt. The harder he tried to open them, the more they stubbornly resisted, and the fact that he could actually feel Draco's eyes on his body like a hot ray of light only made things worse.

Groaning, Harry admitted defeat and just pulled the shirt over his head instead. The socks came off next, and when he reached for the fly of his trousers Harry wished fervently that his fingers might prove more cooperative this time. Thankfully, the one button and the zipper opened easily, and with a grateful sigh Harry pushed his trousers down and stepped out of them. Not daring to look at Draco again this time, Harry slowly pulled down his boxers, inch by inch, and finally stood naked in the starlight.

He felt his lover's approach before he could see him from the corner of his downturned eyes. Even though he was still fully clothed himself, excitement and arousal was crackling off Draco's skin like static. As Harry raised his gaze, he saw Draco stand before him with a wondering look on his face that made him appear much younger.

Then Draco reached out and touched, and all thought was driven out of Harry's head by the blinding surge of pleasure.

Wandering over his chest, skimming over his sides, the plane of a shoulderblade, tracing the thin line of hair down his stomach — Draco's hands were everywhere, and they left Harry aflame in their wake until his blood was boiling, rushing to his face, his heart, his cock, scorching bliss all through his very being.

The moans forming in his throat were squashed into piteous mewls when Draco at last touched him where he ached the most. Gulping for breath, Harry grabbed fistfuls of Draco's robes and squeezed his eyes shut, the sight of Draco's enraptured face printed onto his retinas as he was plunged into depths unthought of, deep oceans of sensation grinding him to dust, sweeping his remains away, every wave leaving him weaker and weaker in its retreat until he gave up, gave up resistance, gave up himself and gave in to the imploring darkness.

He was slowly returned to the present by Draco's kisses, sweet and unhurried, coaxing him back into the light. Harry opened his eyes and found Draco watching him, a satisfied little smile playing over his mouth. The smile carried into his amused eyes and even into the glimmer trickling off him. Harry found that it was contagious; like his heartbeat, Draco was imprinting his smile on Harry.

Harry laughed softly and took Draco's hand, dragging him to the ground, onto the soft grass. Draco opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, and Harry quickly took the chance to silence him with a deep kiss before carefully casting off Draco's robes. For as long as he had waited for it, now finally the time had come to taste his lover's shimmer.

Harry began to open the buttons on Draco's shirt without haste. Every inch of bared skin was a promise of pleasure to come, and when he had managed to open them all and slide the shirt off, he took a moment to admire the lambent white before him, the brightly coloured sparkle ever changing and moving.

He started by licking up the graceful arch of a collarbone, his moan upon contact mingling with Draco's, and continued with the hollow of Draco's throat. Not one part of Draco's skin tasted the same as another, and Harry intended to sample them all, to burn them into his memory and make them his own, and his alone. He wanted Draco's shimmer; nobody else would ever be allowed to share it. Draco and his shimmer were Harry's.

He traced the bright flickering over Draco's chest with his tongue and enjoyed almost losing it on the curve of Draco's shoulder, only to find it again in the crook of his slender arm. Licking, suckling and kissing, Harry made love to Draco's shimmer, and did not let Draco's moans and sighs disturb or distract him from his task.

Once the course of his mouth brought him to the unwanted obstacle of Draco's trousers Harry tore himself away from the sparkling and slowly took off his lover's remaining clothes, ignoring Draco's urging to go faster. Finally Draco's underwear was pulled off, freeing his eager erection. Harry was intrigued by the shimmer's intensity around the loin, but he first had to taste it on Draco's trembling flanks and kneecaps, showing no mercy to Draco's pleading.

In his own time and not a moment sooner, Harry turned to the jutting arousal and greeted the flicker with a lick down its length. Draco yelped and jerked up towards him, so Harry steadied his hip with one hand while he kissed the tip of Draco's cock openmouthed, greedy for the bit of shimmer already leaking out.

"More—" he heard Draco beg breathlessly. "Fuck, Harry — please, more —"

Yes, Harry wanted more of that shimmer, as much as he could possibly get. He opened his mouth and took Draco's cock fully in. The sparkle was flitting and dancing on his tongue. Harry's satisfied sigh was met with a desperate groan. Draco bucked beneath him, straining against the hand that held him down, and suddenly Harry's mouth was filled with liquid heat, condensed flicker that he swallowed down carefully, trying to savour every last drop.

By the time Harry was sated, Draco's breathing had returned to normal again, and the blond was staring at him with starry eyes. Harry was dragged up by shaking hands, and kissed. Now at last their bodies were touching fully, skin to skin. Harry couldn't help a soft moan when his groin brushed Draco's.

"Yes," Draco hissed, resting one of his hands on Harry's arse, and met Harry's hips with his own. Ecstasy jarred through Harry like a flash of lightning. They built up a shaky rhythm, cocks sliding together deliciously, each trying to match the other's movements to increase friction and force completion.

Once again, darkness rocked closer to Harry, threatening to swallow him whole as it had before; but this time he was not alone, this time Draco was with him, sharing his gasps, his fear, his bliss, his darkness until everything was light, until they had conquered the depth together, not losing themselves but finding each other.

Two combined cries, startled fulfillment, sticky dampness unimportant as they collapsed into a jumble, hardly left with energy enough to hold and be held. All through coming down from the heights they had been propelled to, Harry felt Draco with him, sharing one breath, one heartbeat.

The bright glow gradually dimmed to a soft shine. They kissed and kissed, smoothing out the the sharp edge of reality. The last thing Harry saw, tasted and felt as his eyelids dragged and he snuggled into warmth and softness was Draco; Draco's shimmer followed him even into dreaming.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded morning after.

Harry woke up to the cold. Like a bubble floating inexorably to the surface, his mind drifted into awareness and he could do nothing about it. He tried to fall asleep again, tried to grasp the warmth and sweetness of his dreams and hold them fast, but to no avail, the chill of dawn seeped into his mind and pried it open.

The first thing he noticed was the warm body next to him. Without thinking about it, Harry edged closer, intending to steal some of the warmth the other person seemed so richly endowed with. But the touch of the other's skin on his own made him jerk back as if he'd been burned. Harry's eyes flew open.

The world was awash in blurs and smudges around him, but since this was the usual sight that greeted him every morning until he put his glasses on, it was not what started the panic rising inside him. What squeezed his chest until he felt he could never breathe again was the realization of where he was, and with whom. And why.

A tiny tingling still flickered over the part of his body that had touched the other's skin, as if to mock him. Every detail of last night's occurrences stood out in his memory with aching clarity: The ball, Narcissa Malfoy, the drink she had given him — and Draco.

Draco. Harry looked to his right and saw the pale figure lying next to him, blurred into a mere blotch by his eyes. He shivered slightly. A weak pull seemed to reach out for him from the white skin, the temptation to touch not as burning as it had been the night before, but still present even now. Involuntarily, Harry backed off. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to get away before Draco woke up and saw him.

Only then did Harry remember the mask. It was still there on his face, smooth and solid beneath his shaking fingers. Maybe that meant all would be well, and he'd get home untroubled. He hadn't taken the mask off all night, had he? Malfoy didn't know it was him. He couldn't know. Harry clung to this vague hope like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

As he rose to his feet carefully, Harry's heart hammered in his chest so wildly that he felt sure the sound alone would rouse Draco from his dreams. Nervously, he listened to the sleeper's breathing, waiting for that inevitable hitch foretelling Draco's waking. But it never came.

Harry quickly gathered his clothes and dressed as fast as he could with trembling hands, all the while not daring to take off his mask. It felt uncomfortable on his face now, itching and confining. He couldn't wait to leave the Malfoy estate and finally take it off.

Turning to leave, Harry cast a last glance at the pale smudge that was Draco and froze on the spot as he saw the slim figure now sitting upright, watching him. Neither of them said a word. The silence between them stretched and bulged until Harry thought it would suffocate him. A queasiness grew in his stomach with every passing second.

_He can't know it's me, he can't know it, he can't know it's me —_

He stared at the blond helplessly. The idea of just running away never occurred to him.

Then Draco spoke up at last. "What's the matter?"

Not, _"What's the matter, Potter?"_

Inside Harry the tiniest bit of hope began to rise. Whatever had happened between them the night before, Draco would have said his name now, if he knew it. Wouldn't he? Harry couldn't see Draco's face properly from this far away, so he tried to gauge the blonde's frame of mind from his voice. Draco still sounded a bit sleepy, but his tone also conveyed puzzlement and annoyance. Yet there still had to be a way to get out of the situation, somehow.

"I — it's late. I have to go now."

The strength of his voice surprised even Harry himself. This was how people who had just spent the night doing... something (or other) said goodbye to the people they woke up next to, he felt sure. Whether or not Draco felt the same, Harry could not see, and he did not wish to wait and find out. He turned away and started to walk before Draco could whip out his wand and stun him, or call for his father and his Death Eater friends. Or, heaven forbid, try to talk to him about the previous night.

He did not get further than a couple of steps before Draco caught up with him and yanked him around by his shoulder. "What the hell is wrong with you, Potter? You can't just leave like that!"

Harry felt his knees give for a moment. It took him some time to work his voice around the dry hoarseness of his throat. "You knew?"

"You didn't _honestly_ think a mask would hide you?" Draco asked with a dry chuckle that felt like a slap in the face. "There was still your voice, your hair, your bloody self-righteousness..." 

He eyed the flabbergasted Harry with mild pity. "I knew all along."

With fingers that felt numb after the last night's abundance of sensations, Harry took off his mask and let it fall to the ground. Draco was watching him with an inscrutable expression. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was still stark naked, and Harry couldn't care less at this moment. 

"You knew all along," he echoed, trying to comprehend. "Then, why?"

Draco shrugged and averted his eyes for a moment. When he looked back at Harry, his customary smirk had returned to his features. 

"You were asking so nicely."

Anger flared up in Harry. Whatever had he been thinking? No matter what had happened between them the previous night, no matter how close, hot, magnificent it had felt, this was still Malfoy, just the contemptuous prat he'd always been. 

"That wasn't me," he said tensely, balling his fists when Draco chuckled.

"Of course you would say something like that. I mean, how could you live with the knowledge of not being able to resist my charms? They should rename you The Boy Who Randomly Humps Other People's Legs At Masked Balls."

More than anything, Harry wanted to hurt Draco now, to wipe that stupid smirk off Malfoy's face for good. And he had an idea just where to strike. 

"Your mother put something into my drink."

That had the desired effect. Draco stopped smiling at once. 

"I don't give a damn if you want to delude yourself about what happened last night, Potter," he hissed, "but you'd better keep my mother out of this!"

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest, rather satisfied with Malfoy's reaction. "She gave me a syren's tear," he said calmly. Harry wasn't all too sure what exactly a syren's tear was, but Draco seemed to know well enough.

"She didn't!" Draco's face turned as white as a sheet, contorted with anger and hurt.

"She gave me one, and took one herself as well, right before you walked in on us," Harry insisted. "You didn't _honestly_ think I'd have done all that stuff of my own free will?" he added as an afterthought, deliberately mimicking the blond's words from earlier.

Just at this moment and without warning, Draco's mere nearness once more triggered a soft yearning inside him, a longing to touch and be touched; and that, in turn, spurred his anger. What right did the Malfoys have to violate people's preferences like that? There was no chance he'd ever have looked twice at Draco in that way! Was there?

Harry squared his shoulders, nipping that thought in the bud. 

"I'm going now." 

Without looking back, he turned around and started walking again. 

Draco made no move to hold him back this time.


End file.
